"Ow! You bastard, don't push! It hurts!" Loki hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing strangely in the narrow metal confines of the ventilation shaft.
"Stop complaining!" Thor whispered back urgently, though his own discomfort was evident in his strained voice.
"Brother, do you think I'm enjoying crawling through this duct staring at your rear end like this?" Loki shot back with pure venom. "This is humiliating!"
"Okay, okay! Let's just quickly steal it before they find out we're here," Thor said, trying to maintain focus on their mission despite the awkward circumstances.
"Why don't we just beat these mortals down and take the Tesseract by force?" Loki complained, his tone frustrated and annoyed. "Why do we have to go through with this absurd stealth approach? We're gods, for Norns' sake!"
"We already created enough trouble in Midgard," Thor explained, his voice carrying a note of genuine remorse. "Elric and Borgir had to clean up our mess. Let's just take it quietly and go. It's the least we can do."
"And stop pushing me!" Thor added irritably. "I can't go faster than this! The vent is barely wide enough for one person, let alone two grown Asgardians!"
"Thor, don't be a crybaby and pick up your pace," Loki urged from behind, somehow managing to sound both demanding and whiny at the same time.
"Stop it! Stop pushing!" Thor protested.
Their bickering continued, voices rising despite their attempts at stealth.
BOOM.
With their combined weight and constant struggling, the twenty-year-old ventilation shaft suddenly gave out. The metal couldn't support two full-grown Asgardians anymore.
Both brothers dropped through the collapsing vent, falling in a tangle of limbs and landing with a heavy crash in the middle of a hallway.
The impact echoed through the corridor like a thunderclap.
Two SHIELD soldiers who had been passing by on routine patrol suddenly froze mid-step, their hands instinctively moving toward their weapons.
They stared at the two men who had just fallen from the ceiling.
Thor and Loki, still tangled together in an undignified heap on the floor, slowly looked up at the soldiers.
Then the brothers looked at each other.
Then back at the soldiers.
The hallway fell into absolute, awkward silence.
For a long, suspended moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Everyone just stared at each other.
SHIELD Headquarters - Director's Quarters
Ding... Ding... Ding...
The phone rang insistently, cutting through the quiet darkness of the room.
Nick Fury slowly reached out from his bed, his single eye still heavy with sleep. His hand fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, knocking over a glass of water in the process.
"This better be good," he muttered groggily, finally grasping the receiver and bringing it to his ear.
"Boss," the voice on the other end said, tense and urgent, "the Tesseract has been stolen."
Fury's eye snapped wide open, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly.
"Motherfucker."
......
Naruto World - Uzumaki Clan Territory
Meanwhile, in an entirely different world, in a world where chakra flowed through every living thing and shinobi shaped the course of history, the evening was proceeding much more peacefully.
Inside the patriarch's house of the Uzumaki Clan, warm light spilled from traditional paper lanterns, casting soft, dancing shadows on the wooden walls. The gentle glow created an atmosphere of comfort and security, a stark contrast to the dangerous world that existed beyond the village walls.
The family had gathered for dinner in the main room, sitting on cushions around a low wooden table. The table was laden with a feast of traditional dishes—freshly steamed white rice in wooden bowls, beautifully grilled river fish with crispy skin, and rich miso soup filled with mountain herbs and tofu. The aroma filled the room, making it feel like home in the most fundamental way.
Outside, the faint sounds of the village settling in for the night could be heard—children's laughter echoing from distant streets, the murmur of evening conversations, the occasional bark of a dog. But inside this room, a more personal and intimate conversation was unfolding.
"Hey, Mom," Elric suddenly spoke up between bites of rice, his crimson hair—the unmistakable signature of the Uzumaki bloodline—swaying slightly as he looked up from his bowl. His eyes were bright with barely contained excitement. "I want to train a little more tonight after dinner."
His mother, a graceful woman with warm, kind eyes and the same distinctive red hair that marked all members of their clan, tilted her head slightly. Her expression showed gentle confusion mixed with motherly concern.
"Again?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a note of worry. "Sweetheart, you've been training so much lately. You need proper rest too, you know. Your body needs time to recover and grow."
Elric's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm, the kind of pure excitement that only came from being on the verge of a breakthrough. "I'm developing a new technique—it's almost complete! Just a little more practice, just a few more attempts, and I think I can finally crack it. I'm so close, Mom!"
His mother blinked, clearly surprised by his dedication and progress. Pride warred with concern in her expression. "That's very impressive, honey. You've always been so talented." She paused, considering. "But if it's something advanced and potentially dangerous, why don't you let your father help you out? He has years of experience and can guide you safely."
Elric didn't miss a beat, responding with complete sincerity and not a trace of malice in his voice. "No, Mom. Dad's too weak now compared to what I'm attempting. If something unexpected happens during the technique—if it backfires or goes out of control—he might get seriously hurt. I don't want to risk that."
Clink.
The sound of chopsticks freezing mid-air cut through the room.
Across the table, Elric's father—a man who had once been a respected shinobi in his own right—completely froze with a piece of tofu hovering precariously in front of his mouth. The morsel trembled slightly, held in place by chopsticks that had suddenly gone rigid.
A faint, almost imperceptible twitch danced across the corner of his lips as his son's words sank in with devastating clarity.
Too weak.
Might get hurt.
Can't help.
Each phrase was like a kunai to his pride.
He didn't say anything aloud—years of shinobi training had taught him exceptional emotional control, after all. But in his heart, behind his carefully maintained neutral expression, he let out a long, bitter, soul-deep sigh.
You didn't have to say it so directly, kid...
The words echoed in his mind like a mournful bell. There were gentler ways to phrase such things. More diplomatic approaches. Ways that didn't make a father feel like he'd been relegated to the ranks of the completely useless.
He thought defensively. I can still throw a decent punch. I know some respectable jutsu. I'm not completely washed up...
And here he was, the father, being told he was too weak to even observe safely.
It stung. It really, truly stung.
With silent, dignified resignation, he shoved the piece of tofu into his mouth, chewing slowly and mechanically. The quiet indignation simmered behind his carefully controlled expression, but he maintained his composure.
His pride as a former shinobi—as a warrior who had once faced real danger and lived to tell the tale—took a direct, critical hit.
But at least the soup was good. Rich and warm and comforting.
Small consolations.
Elric's mother, completely oblivious to the emotional devastation her son had just inflicted on her husband, smiled warmly. "Well, if you think it's safer that way, I trust your judgment. Just promise me you'll be careful, okay? Don't push yourself too hard."
"I promise, Mom," Elric said cheerfully, already mentally planning his evening training session.
His father continued eating in silence, chewing his food with perhaps slightly more force than necessary.
Too weak, he says, the father thought, a tiny vein pulsing at his temple. Just you wait, boy. When you have kids of your own, they'll say the same thing to you someday. And then you'll understand this pain.
It was a small, petty comfort. But right now, he'd take what he could get.
His wife reached over and patted his hand gently, as if she could sense his inner turmoil. "Dear, are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale."
"I'm fine,"
You guys can check out my patreon with 20 advance chapter, and want to support this story.
patreon.com/LMStar666